“There were one or two things rather more definite,” said Davies, slowly. “You know when he hove to and hailed me, proposing the short cut, I told you roughly what he said. I forget the exact words, but ‘abschneiden’ came in—‘durch Watten’ and ‘abschneiden’ (they call the banks ‘watts’, you know); they were simple words, and he shouted them loud, so as to carry through the wind. I understood what he meant, but, as I told you, I hesitated before consenting. I suppose he thought I didn’t understand, for just as he was drawing ahead again he pointed to the suth’ard, and then shouted through his hands as a trumpet ‘Verstehen Sie? short-cut through sands: follow me!’ the last two sentences in downright English. I can hear those words now, and I’ll swear they were in his native tongue. Of course I thought nothing of it at the time. I was quite aware that he knew a few English words, though he had always mispronounced them; an easy trick when your hearer suspects nothing. But I needn’t say that just then I was observant of trifles. I don’t pretend to be able to unravel a plot and steer a small boat before a heavy sea at the same moment.”
“And if he was piloting you into the next world he could afford to commit himself before you parted! Was there anything else? By the way, how did the daughter strike you? Did she look English too?”
Two men cannot discuss a woman freely without a deep foundation of intimacy, and, until this day, the subject had never arisen between us in any form. It was the last that was likely to, for I could have divined that Davies would have met it with an armour of reserve. He was busy putting on this armour now; yet I could not help feeling a little brutal as I saw how badly he jointed his clumsy suit of mail. Our ages were the same, but I laugh now to think how old and blasé I felt as the flush warmed his brown skin, and he slowly propounded the verdict, “Yes, I think she did.”
“She talked nothing but German, I suppose?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Did you see much of her?”
“A good deal.”
“Was she——,” (how frame it?) “Did she want you to sail to the Elbe with them?”
“She seemed to,” admitted Davies, reluctantly, clutching at his ally, the match-box. “But, hang it, don’t dream that she knew what was coming,” he added, with sudden fire.
I pondered and wondered, shrinking from further inquisition, easy as it would have been with so truthful a victim, and banishing all thought of ill-timed chaff. There was a cross-current in this strange affair, whose depth and strength I was beginning to gauge with increasing seriousness. I did not know my man yet, and I did not know myself. A conviction that events in the near future would force us into complete mutual confidence withheld me from pressing him too far. I returned to the main question; who was Dollmann, and what was his motive? Davies struggled out of his armour.